The Ex Who Stole My Delivery Room - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Stepping into my childhood home, a whirlwind of emotions hit me. I'd been dreading this moment for weeks—ever since I'd decided to leave my husband and start over. My mother, who'd never approved of my marriage, stood in the doorway, her gaze locked onto the tiny bundle in my arms.
For a heartbeat, we just stared at each other, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, her expression softened, and she took a step forward.
"Darcy," she whispered, her voice trembling. "My baby girl."
A lump rose in my throat as I met her eyes, seeing the sadness and worry swirling in them. I knew she wasn't just hurt about the divorce—she was hurt because I'd married someone she'd never liked in the first place.
"Mom," I said, my voice barely audible. "I'm sorry. I know you never wanted me to marry him, but—"
Her eyes flashed, cutting me off. "Sorry? You're sorry? Darcy, I warned you. I told you he was no good for you. But you didn't listen. You never listen."
The sting of her words burned, but I knew she was hurting too. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm.
"Mom, I know I messed up. But I was young, and I thought I was in love. And then… I got pregnant, and I felt trapped. I didn't know what to do."
Her face softened, and she reached out, gently cupping my cheek.
"Oh, Darcy. My poor baby girl. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you more. I'm sorry I didn't support you when you needed me."
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I looked at her, seeing nothing but regret and love in her eyes.
"It's not your fault, Mom," I whispered. "It's mine. I made my choices, and now I have to live with them."
Her gaze dropped to the baby in my arms, and a small smile tugged at her lips.
"But you have this little one now," she said, her voice full of wonder. "And I'm so grateful for that. Can I… can I hold him?"
I nodded, and she carefully took him into her arms. As she cradled him, pure joy lit up her face.
"He's beautiful," she murmured. "Just like his mother."
I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me—the kind that only comes from being home. Maybe, just maybe, we could heal and start fresh. Together.
Mom looked down at the baby again, grinning. "What's his name?"
"Ethan," I said, pride swelling in my chest.
"Ethan," she repeated, her eyes sparkling. "Perfect. He's going to grow up strong and handsome—just like his mom."
I laughed, a lightness filling me for the first time in ages. Right then, I truly believed things would be okay.
We still had a long road ahead—old wounds to mend, tough conversations to face. But in that moment, with Mom holding Ethan and me watching them, the world felt right.
A year later, I was back to work as one of the country's top doctors. With clinics in multiple cities, I was always on the move, so I moved out of Mom's place and started raising Ethan on my own.
Two years flew by in a blink, and my son turned three. He was sharp beyond his years—so much so that I sometimes wondered if he was really Harris's child. At first, I'd worried Ethan would remind me of him, making it harder to move on. But to my relief, he was nothing like his father. He was brighter, more handsome, and his own little person. I couldn't have been prouder.
After a fifteen-day medical trip, I returned to my hometown and stopped by Mom's place—she'd been begging me to visit for months. Walking into the kitchen, I found her cooking dinner. She pulled me into a warm hug, but I caught a flicker of concern in her eyes.
She led me to the living room, and after some small talk, she hesitated. "Darcy, can we talk for a minute?"
I nodded, a knot forming in my stomach. What was this about?